


A Taste of Victory

by October_rust



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: ASoIaF, ASoIaF Kink Meme, M/M, UST
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-26
Updated: 2011-05-26
Packaged: 2017-10-19 19:23:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/204368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/October_rust/pseuds/October_rust
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>written in response to the following prompt at asoiaf kinkmeme: “The aftermath of the rebellion and the confrontation in the throne room. Jaime thinks about the disapproval in Ned Stark's cold grey eyes and his musings bring him to the following question: do these eyes ever burn with passion? Bonus points if Jaime decides to find out ;)"</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Taste of Victory

The feast in the Great Hall of the Red Keep was a truly grand event. No effort had been spared to ensure comfort: the tables were set with a multitude of fine meats, vegetables and fruits, so as to satisfy even the most demanding palates, while wine and ale were flowing ever so freely. It was no wonder, then, that there were wide smiles on the revellers' faces, though to what degree this joy, as well as flushed cheeks, might have been attributed to the potent beverages imbibed without restraint remained a mystery.

Other diversions had also been provided: the serving girls were comely, if a bit shy; the musicians knew their trade, interspersing lively tunes with soft, sweet ballads. Yet Ned found pleasure neither in the idle chatter nor the song, adamantly refusing all the offers to have his goblet filled. _Gods know my head is already spinning._ Sleep had been a rare commodity in recent weeks, spent as they were in council or on the battlefields, and he had trouble staying focused on the current situation. Everything was dissolving into a colourful, noisy whirl.

Ned rubbed the bridge of his nose in a vain attempt to banish the mounting headache. Try as he might, he could not suppress the memory of the King's Landing and its people that had greeted lord Stark's host: the blackened shells of the burnt buildings, the empty, resigned eyes warily following the new arrivals. The worst, however, had awaited in the Red Keep itself.

He gazed across the table where, next to Robert absorbed in a hushed debate with lord Tywin Lannister, the Kingslayer was seated. _If that is the price of triumph, if it takes such men to topple the tyrant … Dare we call ourselves the saviours of the realm?_ Jaime Lannister wore crimson and gold, the lion leaping proudly on his breast. _Crimson and gold … The Lannisters are masters at spilling the former, while the latter they hoard very diligently. These are the pillars of their might._

Having noticed Ned's perusal of his person, the Kingslayer arched a sardonic eyebrow and lifted his cup in a half-mocking salute.

“To lord Eddard Stark, the most honourable of men to have ever prevented the unworthy arses from sitting on the Iron Throne!”

Scarcely had this sally been uttered, when a booming cheer rejoined Lannister's words. A blush rose to Ned's face; nevertheless, he managed to retain the lordly mien and give a courteous bow. The gathered commanders and nobles drank deeply, then put their goblets down with loud clanks. Robert, diverted from whatever he had been discussing with lord Tywin, sent Ned a fleeting smile that did not reach his eyes. _He is still angry with me for the words spoken over the bodies of Rhaegar's family. We are like brothers, yet this man before me is a complete stranger. Has there always been so much unrelenting hatred in his heart?_

Life had been simpler when they were boys in the Vale … Above all, though, Ned missed Winterfell, the crisp northern air a blessed relief from the stale miasma of the south. His new lady wife was also fresh and pure – as beautiful and fragile as a newly blossomed flower. _And strange to me just like Robert._ Lady Catelyn was the epitome of all a lord might have desired in a bride, a perfection Ned had feared to hurt with clumsy fingers during their wedding night. _It was too sudden. We should have got to know each other better._ The brutal irony was not lost on him: had father and Brandon been alive, he would not be married to the fair lady or dining in the Red Keep. _Gods, I beg of you, at least keep Lya safe._

A prickle of disquiet disturbed his musings. However welcome trading heavy armour for a doublet and a pair of breeches had been after weeks of gruelling campaign, Ned wished now for a steel plate to shield him from the Kingslayer's insolent stare. The young man was watching him in a way that brought to Ned's mind associations with a cat ready to pounce on some hapless prey. _No. I will not be your plaything, ser._ The quarrel to have started in the throne room was not over for Jaime Lannister and it seemed he wanted Eddard Stark to remember well the unofficial motto of the House Lannister. _Most likely, I will be the one to pay - I only wonder when he will decide to collect his due. Good that Ice is sharp, despite all the recent use it has seen._

“You are awfully quiet, lord Stark. Is the meal not to your taste, or mayhap the company sours your mood?”

The Kingslayer was definitely spoiling for a fight, be it of verbal or physical variety. Still, Ned would not let the arrogant knight take a rise out of him.

In the quiet that had momentarily fallen, his words were echoing with chilly politeness, “Forgive me for not being more amusing, ser. It was not my intention to ruin your merrymaking, but my disposition has not been particularly bright since Lyanna's abduction.”

The atmosphere grew unpleasantly tense, until another voice, strong and commanding, cut in this peculiar conversation, “Leave him be, Lannister. Were your sister or betrothed out there, in the hands of Rhaegar's knights, you would not be too cheery either.”

The alliance between the stag and the lion was built on fragile foundations, as Jaime's affronted glare directed at Robert amply demonstrated. Nevertheless, the Kingslayer inclined his head, although this show of humility must have been largely induced by lord Tywin's disapproving frown, not the deference to the future king.

“Then I stand corrected and beg your forgiveness, my lord Stark. It was most rude of me to forget about your grief. Drink with me, my lord, because otherwise I shall never feel pardoned.”

Forcing a smile, Ned took a sip of wine. With the crisis so deftly averted, the guests breathed a collective sigh of relief and gladly returned to their liquid refreshments. Ned, however, was not fooled: Jaime Lannister's charming grin notwithstanding, by no means was the matter laid to rest. He fought back the bile gathering in his throat. _This will be a very long evening. I would rather face the enemy in the open than sup with a hungry lion who declares himself my friend._

The rest of the night proved the sentiment true. Outwardly, the Kingslayer's conduct was beyond reproach and his jests were never aimed at lord Stark. But from time to time his eyes sought Ned's in silent challenge, some unspeakable promise lurking in the green depths. To render the circumstances yet more unbearable, the steady supply of alcohol was constantly eroding good manners and inhibitions. Finally, when the pounding in his temples became louder than the drunken songs and shouts echoing round the Hall, Ned took his leave, the courtesies barely veiling his desire to be excused from further participation in the boisterous festivities.

He made his way outside to the practice yard. A lone guard answered his question, pointing the spear at the entrance leading to the ramparts. Having climbed the stairs, Ned walked to the edge of the battlements and leaned heavily on the parapet. Below, King's Landing was shrouded in darkness, few fires from the recent sacking still burning bright. Though distant, the sight was too much, and Ned closed his eyes. _Pillage and rape in exchange for the freedom from Aerys. What an auspicious beginning of the new era!_

Was it craven of him to be glad that soon he would have to head south in search of Lyanna? There was nothing enticing in this sad city, where the Mad King's and Lannister atrocities had been committed. _But I'm certain the local sights will be haunting my dreams for years to come._ A slight breeze rose, wafting the distinctive reek of the capital straight to Ned's nostrils. Fortunately, a few desperate breaths and an undone collar helped to settle his stomach, if not quell the pangs in his conscience.

“And here I thought 'a need for fresh air' was a genteel substitute for 'a need to piss.' You are full of surprises, lord Stark.”

Ned gripped the stone, his knuckles white. Once he had himself well under control, he turned around.

In the mellow light of the torches the Kingslayer's hair gleamed like burnished gold. The finery with the sigil of his House, which on some lesser man would have appeared garish, suited him admirably, accentuating broad shoulders and slim hips. His carriage erect, only dilated pupils gave any indication that Jaime Lannister was in his cups.

A growing sense of unease reminded Ned of the confrontation in the Great Hall: him on horseback, Jaime Lannister on the Iron Throne. For a moment, back then, the chamber had been brimming with bloodlust, the signs of the impending clash of the two forces unmistakeable. Aerys's corpse had looked as though it was smiling in triumph. _And yet I managed to bring the Kingslayer to heel._ Sighing deeply, Ned prayed to the old gods for patience.

“Let me be blunt: I'm not in the mood for your jibes, ser. I've had my fill of this city and your person, and it is high time I went to bed. I bid you good night.”

A contemptuous sneer touched the corners of the Kingslayer's mouth.

“The wolf has fangs. It is somewhat reassuring that you do not need Robert to forever jump to your defence, else I might have confused you with his lady love. Or mayhap is it his bed you are so eager to crawl into?”

Ned's voice had assumed such a wintry tone as to rival the frost atop the Wall itself.

“Since you are drunk, ser, I will not take offence. Heed my warning, though: If you repeat this filth while sober, I will meet you sword to sword.”

He moved to leave, but suddenly there were fingers digging into his arms, pushing him back against the edge of the parapet. The attack was so unexpected that, before he fully realized what was happening, Ned found himself effectively trapped between the cold stone and the Kingslayer's body.

Jaime Lannister's eyes were ablaze with emerald fire.

“Drunk, huh? What a convenient excuse. Should I be grateful for having my life spared, while you readily turn your back and flee from me? A coward you may be, yet you are wise, lord Stark – even drunk, I would gut you in a trice.”

“Then have at me and forever besmirch the white cloak. I carry no weapons.”

The young man flinched.

“Thus, everything boils down to my lack of honour and poor Aerys.” His features resembled an expressionless mask. “For all your disapproving glares in the throne room, you were secretly glad that the dirty work had already been done. My lord Stark, you are no different from the village prude who preaches about virtue and spreads her legs, persistently denying that she is a whore at heart.”

“Enough, boy!”

His iron composure lost, Ned lunged forward. Their faces were inches apart as he growled at Lannister.

“Aerys deserved death, and I wished for it fervently, to make him pay for what he did to father and Bran. Still, the manner in which it happened was beyond despicable. Treachery, murdering innocent babes and women – if the end justifies such means, I want no part in your triumphs.”

Jaime Lannister was watching him, transfixed.

“A naked flame trapped under the ice,” he murmured to himself and tilted his head.

 _What …?_ A ghost of the wine-scented breath was all the indication of the Kingslayer's purpose. _No. He would not dare ..._ The feel of hard lips on his, the thumb and forefinger forcing his jaw open to allow better access. Teeth drawing blood, the act as much a caress as staking a claim. Heat and frenzy, the crimson maelstrom swallowing him into its depths.

A few moments of this relentless plunder had passed, until Ned came to his senses and shoved at Lannister's shoulders.

“You are mad!”

“No. I simply wanted you to have a taste of our victory. It may not agree with your palate, but the sooner you adjust to the flavour, the better your chances for a long and prosperous future. Stick to your honour and all too early you will end in a cold grave.”

Though his words were ringing with the usual arrogance, the Kingslayer was visibly upset. The incident had sobered him up and now, instead of crowding Ned against the wall, he was intent on putting distance between the two of them. Consequently, his subsequent retreat was almost indistinguishable from a graceful escape.

Alone on the ramparts, Ned touched the bruised mouth, wondering whether the taint had already taken root.


End file.
